What an artist is for is to tell us what we see but do not know that we see.

The great sins and fires break out of me like the terrible leaves from the bough in the violent spring. I am a walking fire, I am all leaves.

... all ugliness passes, and beauty endures, excepting of the skin.

If certain critics and poetasters had their way, 'Ordinary Piety' and its child, Dullness, would be the masters of poetry.

What an artist is for is to tell us what we see but do not know that we see.

Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.

Hot water is my native element. I was in it as a baby, and I have never seemed to get out of it ever since.